


The Mysteries of Dean Winchester

by drcarpediem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, High School, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Outsider, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:40:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcarpediem/pseuds/drcarpediem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A curious classmate of Dean Winchester gets too involved with the life of this young hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi! This is my first fanfiction, ever. Feel free to leave constructive criticism, any comments, and any ideas you think should happen in this story.  I adore the world of Supernatural and am I love with the thought of what Dean and Sam's lives were like when they were kids and how other students and teachers perceived the Winchesters. This story will be an outsider point of view. The outsider will be an extremely curious junior in high school. He is quite observant and curious, maybe a little too much. I will try to be as accurate as possible, but I still apologize for any misinterpretations of characters or other things. If you would like something to change, please just say so.

   It was the second month of my junior year. I thought it was strange that a student would come in at such an odd time in the year. I remember the day he came in like it was yesterday......  
    I was sitting in AP Pre-calculus, my first hour class when he walked in. The door opened and in came a confident-looking teenager. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, a brown leather jacket, and jeans. He had dirty blonde hair, a mischievous  look in his dark green eyes and a fit, muscular looking physique. He was more muscular than the quarterback of the high school. Even for a guy, I am pretty attentive so I didn't miss the dark purple splotches on his lower arm that showed when his jacket lifted to give the teacher the note in his hand.   
   " Class, this is Dean Winchester, he will be joining us this year, so do your best to include him. Dean take a seat. I think there's an open one right there." Dean nods, struts over to his chair (which happened to be conveniently located at the front of the room, just where Mr. McKinley, our pre-calculus teacher, can closely watch), and winks at Lindsay Ford. I roll my eyes and get my graph paper out.   
      Dean Winchester didn't pay attention all class period. He was writing something down in his notebook or obviously thinking about something else. He would gaze off into the distance and get an intense look on his face that I wouldn't think someone like him( you know, the bad boy, athletic, ladies man)would have. Then, Mr. McKinley would ask him a question and he would answer flawlessly on the first try without any effort. It was really driving me up a wall. He just didn't care about anything, but he did well without caring.   
       I was extremely curious, so I might have watched him the rest of the day. He seemed kind of friendly. Almost too friendly sometimes. He was at ease with complete strangers. Like he was playing them. Telling them what they needed to hear from him. What I also thought was weird was the way he moved. When anyone was  looking he would put on a confident walk, but he was extremely tense. Like he was always ready for someone to attack. It was weird. I tried to think about him as little as possible, but I noticed he would sit with the jocks most of the time and was never alone. It was strange, because even though he was never alone, he seemed like a loner. I really didn't notice anything else until about a week later.   
     It was right before lunch and I was putting my P.E. clothes away in my black duffle bag. The locker room was completely empty until I heard the door creak and someone stumble in. I peaked behind the wall and saw Dean Winchester stagger through the door. Dean, the normally overly confident, suave guy, looked like he was barely holding it together. He seemed to be holding his breath. Like it was hard to breathe or something. He didn't see me, of course;I made sure of that. I saw him lean against a sink, pull a small white pill bottle, some gauze, pressure bandages, a needle, dental floss, and a lighter out of his backpack. I was confused because, really who carried that around with them, especially a teenager. Next, he quickly pulled off his leather jacket and shirt. My eyes widened at what was under. His muscular torso was littered with deep purple and yellow bruises, the result of what I assumed to be broken, cracked, or badly bruised ribs. There was white bandages wrapped around his shoulder and all the way down to the bottom of his arm. He quickly unwrapped the old gauze. Underneath, there were many large ugly bruises and a gash, stitched shut, from his shoulder to his wrist.   
   He then clicked the lighter on and heat up the needle, sterilizing it. Dean took the dental floss, fed it through the eye of the needle, then began to stitch up a part of the wound on his shoulder where the stitches had split open. He didn't cringe, cry, or melt like many people did with far less pain. He quickly and neatly stitched himself up, then wrapped his arm and then rewrapped his ribs. Dean popped three of the pills, probably painkillers into his mouth. He quickly threw his bloodstained white shirt on. He put his brown leather jacket on next which conveniently hid the stains of blood and any evidence of stitches. Then he did something pretty strange. He looked at himself in the mirror and suddenly his pained look became a glazed one with that same cocky look that usually rode Dean's face. He took a breath, picked up his backpack, and strutted out of the room.   
    I was thoroughly shocked. The only reasonable explanation I could possibly think of is child abuse. That Dean was being abused by his parents. I have never seen Dean's parents though. He always walks to school. I heard some people say that he has a younger brother that is 12, that he has to walk his brother to the junior high school first. I was way too curious for my own good, so I thought to do a little investigating.   
     I waited until after school. I had track practice today, so it was late when I snuck back to the main building of the school. No one was there. I became quite acquainted with picking locks in the 5th grade for a project, and I was still quite skilled. In no time at all I was walking down the school hallway, heading for the school archives. I though it was way too easy to get into. I guess they let anyone see the files if they really wanted to. Once I got there, I opened the file cabinet that was labeled W-Z. Near the front was Winchester, Dean. It was a very thick file. I decided to start from the back since that would be the earliest item placed in the file.   
     It was a report from a teacher in K-4.  
" Dean was an excellent student. He was always pretty happy and easy going until November. That was the month his mother died. She died in a fire and Dean hasn't spoken a lot ever since.. It's really a shame, he was such an intelligent boy. He has also seems to have certain things that make him snap. Like heat, smoke and sometimes, when he is dropped off in the morning he is particularly withdrawn and all he can do is talk about his brother, Sammy. The attachment to his brother seems unhealthy. I would recommend for Dean to see a child psychologist to help with the aftermath of the loss of his mother."   
    Ok this was interesting. Dead mother and adolescent psychological damage might explain some behavioral patterns. It was getting late and I needed to get home quickly, so I had the brilliant idea of copying the whole file. It probably took me twice as long to copy it as it would have to read the file. Nonetheless, I had my own illegal copy of my mysterious classmate's life. I carefully put the file back in its proper place, trying my hardest to make it look untouched. I shoved my personal copy into my jacket and jogged home. Hopefully, my mom wasn't terribly mad that I was home an hour late because track ran late......right?  
   
To be continued... Thank you for reading! 


	2. What To Do...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second installment of The Mysteries of Dean Winchester

Once I got home, I raced up the stairs to my room and stuffed the stack of papers under my pillow, so I could do some midnight snooping. I tried to put on a casual face as I sauntered down the stairs. At that moment, I mentally debated whether or not I should tell my parents about what I saw today in the locker room and in Dean's file.

Being the mature and responsible teenager that I am, I decided to avoid the topic of Dean's file because that would lead my lawyer mom to the question of how did I get the file in the first place. She would then proceed to find out (with or without me disclosing truthful information) that I might have broken into the school's files. That fact would then turn into grounding or some other "innovative" form of teenage punishment. As stereotypical as it is, I am not found of grounding. Henceforth, all direct mention of Dean (well at least Dean's file) is going out the window and being covered with a large amount of dirt.

"Luke," my mother called as I was in the middle of my descent down the stairs, "dinner has been ready for 30 minutes. Where in the world have you been?"  
"Track practice ran late and coach wanted to talk to me afterword," I replied, attempting to refrain from any telltale signs that I am lying.  
"Hmm." My mother scanned me over, almost like she was peering into my soul. "What did he say?"  
Whew! I can't believe that actually worked! "He said that I am doing pretty well this season and he thinks I can go far in the hurdles for competition. I just need to put in a little more practice time," I replied. This wasn't a complete lie; my coach did mention this to me earlier.  
Five minutes later, we were all sitting down around the dinner table. I have not said much this meal, since I was thinking about Dean's predicament. He was truly confusing me. I need to find a way to receive some sort of answer or else I might go completely nuts and ask Dean. Ha! Now that is funny.

"Hey Dad?" I asked, figuring out a subtle way to work this topic into normal conversation. I continued when he looked up at me from his plate.

"During lunch, Bradley and Lewis were discussing a movie about a kid taken by CPS. They were debating about the accuracy of the facts. I was curious about a couple of them. One of the main subjects I was confused about was the situation of a teacher reporting a supposedly abused child. If a teacher recognizes signs of abuse and contacts CPS, how long will it take for them to perform an official investigation and find out if said youth is getting abused or not?"

" It typically takes about 30 days for them to do a complete investigation but they normally take action about the case within 24 hours of being notified about a child being abused. Was that helpful?" my father replied.

"Yes. Thanks Dad! You know what, I don't think I am hungry anymore. Thank you for dinner Mom. I am going to go finish up some... uh...homework. G'night!" I ran upstairs to my room and decided that I would try to finish reading Dean's file and gather more information on Dean and his behavior tomorrow.

I removed the paper clip from my stack of copied papers and continued reading. The next two papers were stapled together. Apparently, they were from a hospital. A hospital that was in Tucson, Arizona which was on the other side of the United States as Augusta, Maine. Hmmm... What would cause a family to move that far away?

I turned my attention back on the sheet of paper. The year on the paper was 1988. If Dean is the same age as me, then he would have been nine. A certain Dr. Hawthorne records the reasons for Dean's hospital visit. A nine year old is taken into the E.R. by his father. They were supposedly hiking and were attacked by some sort of wild animal, but there were other theories. Dean had three long gashes running from his left shoulder to his right hip on his back, four broken ribs, and a concussion. One of the broken ribs punctured his lung and it collapsed. They had to repair it surgically. He was moved to PICU and stayed there for a week. After two and a half weeks, Dean was signed out AMA. Who signs their gravely injured nine year old out of the hospital? John Winchester, that's who, well at least according to the document.

The next page was pictures. I barely contained my dinner when I saw them. The stitches in his wounds made Dean look like a mini-Frankenstein. The skin around them was pink from irritation and the rest of his back was a sickly pale gray color.

What the heck? Where did Dean keep on getting all of these weird scratches? Well more like gashes.. Was his father some sick-o or something? Dean Winchester and his family are becoming such an interesting topic. I have to know what is going on for sure. Since Dean doesn't seem like the sharing type, I might have to do something kind of childish. I think I am going to tell a teacher. Probably Mr. McKinley because he is a good teacher, my favorite actually. Also, rumor has it that Mr. McKinley called CPS for this one kid who was getting abused and now that kid is in a safe and loving family. I thought if anyone can help Dean, it would be him.

The next day, I had Pre-calculus with Mr. McKinley. However, I was watching Dean the whole time. I was trying to pick up as many details as possible. Dean always sucks on his pens during class. Dean is not afraid to make eye contact with the teacher.

Every ten minutes, Dean shifts in his seat uncomfortably and makes a slight grimace. A grimace of pain, I presume, considering what I witnessed in the locker room the other day.

Dean was writing paragraph after paragraph of something in his notebook. It deffinately wasn't English, but it had almost the same symbols. Italian? Spanish? I looked closer. On the paper ,what words I could make out were weird. 'Exorcizamus te omnis... ' Latin? Was Dean writing in Latin in the middle of precalculus? Who does that? How does Dean know Latin? They don't offer it at our school. Another quirk on the never-ending list of Strange Things about Dean Winchester.

Dean looks extremely bored. Dean never uses a calculator. Mr. McKinley handed back our tests. Dean's test was perfect. He got a 100%. Dean stuffed the test into his folder, almost like he was ashamed of his grade, or didn't want anyone to know he was actually intelligent. Dean probably earned the highest grade in class. No one got an A+ on Mr. McKinley's tests. Why didn't Dean care? Is it because he is too worried about what happens at home with his dad?

Right as the bell rings, Dean turns around and sees me staring at him. This just got awkward. I give him a little smile and a slight wave, trying to be friendly. Dean gives me a strange look and nods, the corners of his mouth slightly twitching up.

I gathered my belongings and walked as slowly as possible to the front of the room so everyone could clear out before I talk to Mr. McKinley.

"Hi Luke," Mr. McKinley said as I approached his desk," what can I do for you?"

"Hey Mr. McKinley. Umm...It's about Dean."


End file.
